


Always My Darlin'

by pizzacrusthoe



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Duelling, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, THEYRE GUN TOTIN COWBOYS, Violence, yessir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzacrusthoe/pseuds/pizzacrusthoe
Summary: The Man in Green has some unfinished business with the Pig-Headed Prince.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 205





	Always My Darlin'

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [hand in unlovable hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808461) by [antsu_in_my_pantsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antsu_in_my_pantsu/pseuds/antsu_in_my_pantsu). 



> hi all! i read antsu_in_my_pantsu's dnf cowboy au and my friends and i went FERAL (and were in immeasurable pain), so i wrote this!! it's heavily based on their design of dream and techno, but this doesn't really have any place in their plotline so it can be read as a standalone. however, i very much recommend you go read their fic
> 
> (i do not condone shoving shipping into dream or george's faces at all!! this is just for fun :))

George sat on the dusty planks of a covered porch, the tattered canvas awning barely providing any shade from the blistering midwest sun. He rested his elbows on his spread knees and bowed his head, sighing when a small breeze flitted over the back of his damp neck. Sometimes George couldn’t help but curse his pale skin, always burning and never tanning, unlike Clay’s. He envied Clay’s skin, golden where his was pasty, rough where his was smooth… He especially loved the feeling of those strong hands brushing over his face, callouses tickling his skin and rough fingers catching on the cracks in his lips… Large palms gripping his narrow waist, leaving trails of blazing heat as they dragged up his bare chest… 

“Nope,” George muttered to himself as he dropped his face into his hands and rubbed at his eyes, “not the time.”

The heat was definitely affecting him.

Just as George was about to slip back into the stupor fueled by dry air and rustling brush, a flapping door slammed open across the sandy road. Squinting his eyes against the onslaught of bright light, George stared as two figures emerged from the saloon. One was familiar, and the other was monstrous.

Clay approached George’s perch, strides long and eyes flashing, while the other figure hung back and gloated. It was the Pig-Headed Prince. Go figure.

George leapt to his feet and tried to ignore the way his heart jumped at the ferocity of Clay’s approach, hiding the pink rising on his cheeks by fiddling with his wide-brimmed hat,

“Is it time to get out of this shithole?”

Clay grimaced and George could almost sense that his teeth were clenched behind the lime bandana that hid his face from view,

“Not quite,” Clay hissed. “Hand me my pistol.”

George gaped and tried to gather his thoughts into some semblance of an orderly argument, but Clay beat him to it,

“Don’t.”

“But-”

“ _Don’t._ ”

Sighing, George reached for the silver plated beauty he had tucked into the back of his pants and handed it back to its owner, grip forward. Clay’s fingers ran over George’s as he grabbed his trusted pistol, and George _knew_ that he felt George’s shudder, because his eyes immediately shot up and began to dance with trickery.

“Gimme a kiss for good luck?”

George groaned and his cheeks flared, and he brought his fingers to Clay’s broad chest and pushed forcefully. Clay pretended to stumble backwards a couple of feet, mocking hurt gleaming in his green eyes.

“Just don’t get shot,” George whispered. He had attempted a joking tone, but the words came out soft, betraying his inner turmoil and genuine worry. Clay lowered his voice as well, steady as he rarely was,

“I won’t, darlin’.” He turned from George and stalked towards his opponent, cocky gait back in full force. His nimble fingers spun his ornamented weapon in a grand circle, screaming arrogance and threat. George drummed his fingers against his thigh.

The Pig-Headed Prince was busy with his entourage on the far side of the avenue, exposing his back to the wide expanse of main street. They were chuckling amicably amongst themselves, as if they had wrapped up business for the afternoon and were looking forward to their next round. One of the tall boys had the air of someone already deep in the cup, and George was sure that his short companion was not far behind. The oldest of the bunch, a stocky man with sun-bleached hair and a green striped hat, was the first to notice the oncoming threat, opening his mouth as if to spout a warning. It wasn’t necessary. Clay raised his right arm tall and proud and fired a blank into the air, the resounding bang stilling all life for miles.

He cut an imposing figure, lean muscles visible underneath his rough shirt and stance wide and confident, arm still high. The flaps of his duster rustled around his calves as everyone stood stagnant, the only sound being the sweep of tumbleweeds. George thought he belonged in a museum.

The silence broke like the crash of a wave, sudden and violent, as every member of the Prince’s party reached for their hips and aimed. Clay didn’t look phased. With four guns pointed directly at his chest, he gingerly lowered his arm and waited, unflinching. The Prince slowly pivoted.

Even after becoming quite acquainted with the horror known as the Pig-Headed Prince, the gruesome sight still jostled George’s innards. The taxidermy hog’s head that the man wore stared with unblinking, glassy eyes, snout slightly open to reveal a collection of long teeth and the mere glimpse of a human mouth behind it all. It was far too easy to forget there was a man underneath the leathery pink skin. The Prince sneered,

“What’s this? Tryin’ to shoot a man with his back turned?”

Clay scoffed. If he had wanted the Pig dead, he had had plenty of opportunity only moments before. The stocky man seemed to realize this and shifted in place, saying something under his breath that only the Prince could hear.

“Well then. Seems you still have some kinda honor left in ya’. Stand down, boys.” All four of his cronies hesitated before strapping their guns back to their belts, and one glared at George in the process. It was the tall, most likely drunk one. He looked young for his height and was about as intimidating as a desert rat. George wasn’t impressed. Everyone’s focus was captured by Clay as he began to speak, voice nowhere near as deep as the Prince’s but just as powerful and resonant,

“I didn’t appreciate that trick you played earlier, _Pig_ ,” Clay taunted, “you’re gonna have to pay for what ya’ stole from me. I don’t have no patience for lowly, pickpocketin’, _scum._ ” With that last insult Clay spat on the sand at his feet, adding an edge to his words. There was no way the Prince could back down from Clay’s challenge, lest his reputation and respect within this throwaway town be washed to the gutter. Clay had backed him into a corner. The Prince honest to god _growled,_ his voice rumbling as he responded,

“Bold words, green boy. If I was a worse man, those’d cost you two fingers. But I’ll cut ya’ a deal,” George could hear the upturn of the man’s lips, “A duel. Nice and simple.”

Clay pretended to consider his words, though George knew this was exactly what he had expected the Pig to suggest, “The stakes?”

The Prince’s words turned cruel, “You win, I pay every copper you’re owed. I win,” he unfastened his deep, bloodred cloak and reached for his own pistol, “you don’t leave this place with your life.”

George groaned and shook his head slightly, knowing Clay, “Clay let’s get outta’ here-”

“ _O_ _h Clay_ ,” the Pig jeered, imitating George’s high inflection and letting out a deep laugh, “What, are ya’ gonna run back to your boytoy? Ride with that prissy bootlicker into the sunset, tail between your legs?”

Clay set his shoulders and straightened, his tone dark and turbulent as he made his decision, “Ten paces. It ends here, _Techno._ ”

George wished he could see Clay’s face in that moment. He wished that his back wasn’t turned, so that he could see the expression in Clay’s eyes. George had never heard him sound so serious.

-

How dare he, how _dare_ he come after George? Clay had been adamant on leaving George out of the dangerous mess caused by these no-good, worthless, piss drinkin’, sons of-

“YEAH!! GO TECHNO!” whooped the gangly, ratty fellow that wouldn’t shut his damn mouth during the card game. Clay rolled his eyes.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Clay felt George’s hot gaze on the back of his head. It was kind of distracting. George’s eyes seemed to torch through his clothes and skin, leaving a tingling feeling deep in his chest, warming a place untouched even by the sharpest whiskey. It felt like strength. Clay would not die today.

His pistol hung limply from his fingers, as natural in his grasp as another limb, and he began to step forward.

He met Techno halfway.

-

As soon as the fire rang out, George knew something was wrong.

The men had stood back to back, had taken ten paces, and swiveled. Clay’s bullet lodged in Techno’s chest. Techno’s only barely grazed Clay’s arm. But the bullets did not stop.

George watched in muted horror, pulse roaring in his ears, as a third bullet flew an inch past Clay’s head. And a fourth.

Then all hell broke loose.

Everyone was running, and everyone was shouting. The Pig-Headed Prince fell to his knees with an echoing groan as Dream whipped around to meet George’s eyes, his entire being blazing with frantic energy and unfiltered _l_ _ife._ Two of Techno’s goons ran to their leader’s side while the other two fumbled with their firearms, reloading and starting towards Clay. George shot forward, grabbed hold of Clay’s arm, and _ran_.

The pair sprinted down the wide street, making for the first narrow crossroad they could find. Clay was laughing giddily, almost breathless with mirth, and slipped his hand into George’s on instinct as they retreated. His fingers dwarfed George’s. Each gasp of sandy air tore through George’s lungs, but he didn’t slow. The sound of heavy pursuit was deafening. A bullet nicked George’s ear. Clay stopped laughing.

Finally coming up upon their horse, Clay’s large hands gripped George’s waist and hoisted him up. George almost protested, _he could mount just fine on his own_ , but the sound of thundering footsteps around the corner shut him up. As soon as George was sat at the front of the saddle, Clay vaulted up and reached around George’s torso to grab at the reins, his chest flush with George’s back.

“ _Hyah!_ ” The horse was spurred to life and took off like the wind, leaving the clumsy hunters in the dust.

They fled.

\--

George didn’t spot the measly traveler’s camp on the horizon until the sun began to set. He had no notion of how long they had been riding, but he was glad for the now-slow pace and the cooling air on his sunburnt cheeks. The bright colors of coming night painted faraway hills with brilliant hues, and George was swept with a feeling of peace. Stillness blanketed the flat plains as far as the eye could see and George could imagine how beautiful the coming night would be, stars twinkling and clear.

Clay hadn’t spoken in hours. George wanted to say something. Anything, really. But his arms never loosened from around George’s waist, so George let him sulk. It had been a hard loss, instigated by a gang of cheats, and they had been lucky to escape with their lives. No matter how hard he tried, George could not forget the all-encompassing fear that took hold of his body when Clay faced the barrel of the Pig-Headed Prince. After all this time, George could _not_ lose Clay. He burrowed deeper into Clay’s chest, hoping it wasn’t a weird thing to do, and Clay’s forehead lolled onto George’s shoulder.

“Clay?” George started, quietly, thinking he had just nodded off. George could feel exhaustion taking its toll, but he could at least wait until they were back at camp. Unlike _somebody_.

“Clay?” George queried again, a little louder, “we’re back.”

The horse padded to a stop as the weary group reached a pitched canvas tent and the blackened remains of an old fire. They had stayed at an inn the night before, and honestly George was surprised that heavy gusts hadn’t blown everything away.

George tried to jump down. Clay’s arms held him fast.

“Clay, let me down.”

He wouldn’t budge.

“Clay?” George tried to turn in the saddle, and Clay’s hands went limp, dropping the reins. George shifted again, and as he swung his left leg over the horse and hopped off, muscles sore, he heard Clay finally move. George pivoted. His eyes widened. As if in slow motion, Clay, unconscious and pale, slid off the side of the horse. George screamed.

“CLAY! Clay, dear lord above-” he fell to his knees over the heap that was his best friend, and roughly took hold of his shoulders, shaking them violently. Their horse began to graze, disinterested. George’s face screwed up as he tried to ignore the threat of tears that barraged him. Clay didn’t even twitch. Stumbling over himself, George pressed two shaky fingers to Clay’s neck and prayed for the first time in months.

The small _thump_ of an unsteady pulse was enough to send George over the edge, the hastily constructed dam inside his heart overflowing.

“Thank you,” George sobbed to the heavens above, “ _thank you._ ”

He silently promised to buy a pocket Bible the next time he went to town.

Recognizing the weakness of Clay’s pulse, George quickly began searching for the wound. Those dirty _fucking_ thieves were going to pay for what they had done. George stripped off Clay’s duster, carefully, and gasped. From his vantage point he had thought that Techno’s bullet had just barely caught Clay’s left arm, but now it was evident that it had hit far, far deeper. The shot had ripped a hole through Clay’s bicep, not hitting bone but instead splitting muscle and sinew and exiting the other side. But it wasn’t clean. Trust a Pig Prince to carry the worst kind of bullet, the kind that _tears_. Clay’s entire left side was soaked in scarlet blood, and it was still flowing.

George set to work and unclipped their jug of water from the saddlebags, pouring some out for the exhausted horse before tipping it over Clay’s arm. His hands shook. Watered down blood stained George’s forearms and lap as he unsuccessfully tried to stem the bleeding with some clean rags. It just kept bleeding and bleeding, and Clay’s complexion only lost more and more color. George knew what he had to do, and hoped his fingers would be steady enough to do it. He rustled through bags and seized a sewing kit and a flask.

\--

The fire danced merrily in place, glowing warmly, reflecting the exact opposite of the mood permeating the lonely camp. It was past midnight, and George gazed blankly ahead, waiting, _hoping_ , for Clay to wake up. A bloody rag hung from George’s immobile fingers, swaying in place. George hadn’t moved in hours. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t drunk any water. He simply waited, the skin of his hands and wrists dyed pink with the blood he had given up trying to scrub off.

George’s bleary eyes were clouded with misery, and he almost didn’t notice when Clay began to stir. _Almost_.

He was at his side in an instant, hovering nervously over the makeshift bed he had settled Clay into. Clay’s eyes cracked open.

“Clay?” George sniffed, emotional and exhausted.

Clay managed to grin, “did ya’ miss me?”

Time stopped as they stared into each others’ eyes.

George could have wept, but instead settled for a broken sort of hiccup as Clay attempted to sit up. He winced as he lifted his torso, and George quickly sat down, pressing his side against Clay to support his weight. George saw that Clay was fiddling with the cloth tied tight around his injury and nudged his leg to get his attention.

“So…” Clay smiled half heartedly, “I hope you weren’t worried.”

Something flashed inside of George and he opened his mouth, prepared to shout and scream _how_ could someone be so _reckless_ and _stupid_ and _selfish_. He wanted to yell and yell until his voice cracked and his eyes blurred, cursing this stupid world and his stupid friend and all of his stupid, _stupid_ feelings that confused him and exhilarated him and left him helpless when Clay was gone. Clay interrupted before George could let out a single word,

“Please don’t tell me I shouldn’t have done it,” his words were soft and private, “I had to.”

George gaped, lips not quite closed. He hadn’t expected the intimacy of Clay word’s. The rare vulnerability that Clay was showing, his face gentle and his tone tender. George became triply aware of how closely they sat, and of the absolute stillness of the night. It seemed like the world was holding its breath. There were so many things that George wanted to say, but that he couldn’t quite put into words. Did Clay know what he had been through these past few hours? How quickly his world was tilted with Clay not there?

“I-” George began, voice low, composure cracking, “please,” he almost whimpered, “please never leave me again.”

Clay’s eyes were deep and ancient, swimming with something that George had never seen before. Slowly, as if to not spooky him, Clay raised his right arm and tugged on George’s waist, trying to convey what he wanted. George moved just as gingerly, carefully sliding himself sideways onto Clay’s lap and wrapping his arms loosely around his neck, burying his face into the crook of Clay’s shoulder. Clay exhaled and ran his right hand up George’s spine, threading it into the hair at the nape of his neck and pressing his cheek to George’s head. The pair sat wrapped around each other for minutes or maybe even hours, soaking in the warmth and calm. They fit together so perfectly, so naturally, it was a wonder they were not born of the same body.

-

George’s grip in the back of Clay’s shirt tightened as Clay loosened the hold of his right hand and ran it over George’s hair soothingly. George let himself emerge from the warmth that was Clay’s neck and Clay brought his mobile hand to George’s cheek, tilting George’s face so it was illuminated by flickering embers and pure moonlight. Clay drank in George’s elegant beauty, felt his slender fingers at the back of his neck, and witnessed the harrowed look in his eyes. _He_ had caused that… that _pain_.

“I will never,” Clay whispered, reverently, “ _ever,_ leave you.” He leaned closer, expression open and asking. George’s eyelids slid closed - an answer. Their lips met, and Clay was burned alive.

The feeling of George’s mouth on his lit a fire that ignited in his chest and spread. _And spread and spread and spread._ He could feel George clutching at his hair like he would disappear, could feel George’s lean torso pressed against his from navel to collarbone. Clay clung to George’s waist like it was the last thing he would ever do, letting George take him apart with his soft, soft lips. Clay surfaced, gasping, his lips permanently seared with _George_ , and looked up to the starry sky. He felt George plant a kiss on his jaw, then his neck, then his throat, each leaving Clay shuddering. His fingers dug further into George’s slim waist and George hummed against his neck - breath hot, lips hotter. Clay watched the stars grow brighter and brighter as George ruined him, and breathed up to the heavens,

“ _Never._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y'all enjoyed this!!! i really loved writing it and i think this is legit the longest thing i've ever written sooooo yep. cowboy brainrot heehoo. if you want to leave a kudos or comment i'd love to hear from you! and subscribe cause i need clout
> 
> edit: ohmygosh this just got to 1000 hits im so kndlDJndkljawldnlndlawjk wow. thank you all s o so much and for over 100 kudos as well. i literally cannot believe people read this and even commented just. thank you


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